


What Happens In France...

by Kelkat9



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Dimension Cannon, Dimension Travel, Dimension-Hopping Rose, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Jealousy, Not Canon Compliant, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelkat9/pseuds/Kelkat9
Summary: Dimension hops go a little different than planned plunging Rose into not only in her universe but into the past.  A trip to Eighteenth Century France sets the course for Rose as she bounces around universes and time to find the Doctor and save the Multi Verse.





	What Happens In France...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Hellostarlight20 for poking my muse about dimension hopping Rose and GitF tie in to the jealous/envy prompt and for beta services :)

Dimension travel, the science of it, was about ripping through walls and traversing the Void transporting the traveler from a linear trans-dimension point A to point B.  Time didn’t factor into the calculation or physics of the process. It wasn’t time travel.

Except, for Rose.

Rose and the other physicists involved in the project theorized it had to do with her prior years’ worth of time travel. Artron, Rose theorized.  Time energy that lingered on anyone who traveled in time. Even Mickey although his was minimal compared to Rose. 

And then there was Bad Wolf.  The wolf never truly left her.  Even in Pete’s World when it led her to a lonely good bye to the Doctor.  Except, it didn’t end there. And she never told anyone the signs lingered, following her around like a ghost.  The one haunting she could never escape.

Meant to lead her back to the Doctor, she sometimes wondered if it wasn’t a curse or punishment.  Especially on dimension jumps gone wrong.

Twelve jumps in, after multiple wrong universes, Rose finally made it to the right universe.  Wrong time. In fact, the worst. France, 1745 at the court of King Louis The Fifteenth. A masquerade ball to be exact, the one where a certain Doctor enjoyed himself a dance or two or three, along with dipping into the royal liquor cabinet.

And Rose arrived in time to get an eyeful.  Ducking up the stairs to a few servant stares, why they didn’t call the guards she had no idea, she slipped into a suite.  Definitely not modern decadence. Smoke the primary smell and dirty gray walls evidenced the primary method for heat. She tore through a dressing area with gowns stacked on a table. 

Apparently, the lady couldn’t make up her mind and left the pile of enormous gowns behind.  Lucky for Rose the styles were enormous hoop skirts. She grabbed a puce green, ugly, ruffled, poof of a dress that would cover most of her clothes.  Keeping her trousers, and she peeled off her leather coat and top, tucking them out of sigh. She kept the dimension canon fastened to her hip.

As she contorted into yoga pose she deserved bonus points for in order to fasten the gown, guilt clamped down.  She shouldn’t do this. She should hide and wait for the jumper to recharge. This path verged on a dangerous line, one of crossing her own time line. 

She could fuck up events, lose the Doctor and possibly get everyone killed, including her mum, if she caused a paradox.  Reapers were not something she wanted to repeat.

Then again, if she didn’t interact with him, remained the observer….  Or, who’s to say she wasn’t meant to be here? Maybe this was how things are supposed to happen?

“Fuck it,” she muttered and continued hooking up the gown as best she could.  One quicky messy bun and a harlequin mask that smelled of rotten animal hide and Rose merged into the crowd.

God did they stink.  She nearly passed out and stole a very inebriated woman’s fan to help with the stench.  Clearly, not just a fashion sense. One glass of strong red wine and she began to understand why everyone seemed so, err, jolly.  She avoided dancing. Unlike some people.

The certain brown pin-striped Time Lord held his own court, the center of attention next to the King’s future mistress herself.  Married lady if she caught enough of the French gossip. She really missed the TARDIS translation. Her year of French lessons didn’t include eighteenth century dialect. 

The language translation device they cobbled together in the parallel universe only worked sometimes.  Better with human variations but not so well here. Shit. That’s right. Different Earth. Different history, and languages varied.  Bloody brilliant. More wine.

Luckily Rose was good at universal flirt.  Blokes, ladies, and anyone in between, a wink here, a caress there, a subtle bump, hum, giggle and one could slip pass in the most suspicious crowd.  Thank you, Jack Harkness, for that lesson. 

Jack…she missed him.  There was another great regret, memories surfacing, past a Time Lord’s distractions and ability to talk his way around the truth.  Wine had a way of making her maudlin but at least it was strong wine. Maybe another glass…

His voice carried across the room past the hum of laughter and music.  And he wasn’t even in costume. Although it was a masquerade ball. Lucky wanker.  And he was at the moment, drinking, flirting, even with the King. Oh, did he have a threesome?  The wine burned in her belly. 

Sure, it was all good if he  _ danced _ with the King and Madame du Pompadour but not one Rose Tyler.  Yes, he snogged her, repeatedly and they came close a time or two but always stopped short.  She snorted and hid behind her wine. Unfair. Looking at him, how he got all the fun while she was almost hacked into pieces hit a tender, annoyed spot.

He danced.  Laughed. Made odd anachronistic comments that confused them all.  But like everyone, they fell to his charms. She’d seen enough. It was whilst leaving, her plan went pear shaped.  Somehow, she was whirled, er, stumbled around in the arms of a costumed naval admiral until suddenly she was dancing with the Doctor.  Shit.

One moment of semi-drunk panic translated into forcing her feet to move as he babbled up a storm.  One word and he’d suss her out. Mind racing, she glomped onto the one thing that might save her. Different universe. 

She’d taken a course in Genovian which both she and her mum giggled over actually existing for real.  Speaking in the dialect which was sort of a convoluted mix of European dialects, she told him, at least she thought she did, “Thank you.” 

“Ohhh I don’t think I quite caught your dialect.”  He moved her around the dance floor, light on his feet, his fingers brushing against hers as she slammed down psychic barriers.  Thank you, Torchwood and UNIT. 

Tipsy, and a little ready to serve him up a little pay back for all the times he showed off and made Rose and Sarah Jane feel lost and daft, she decided to really screw with him.  Wine, a dizzying heat, and the stench of French perfume mixed with unwashed bodies, she slurred out a few mixed words and languages.

“A small country, on the Riviera famous for…our lovely pears.” God, did he understand that? French, Genovian, and was there some Welsh in that? She fought back a smile when he frowned. Clearly, he caught onto enough.  Especially the bit about pears which drunk Rose thought a genius addition.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally sputtered. It took every bit of discipline and a few thoughts of disgusting alien vomit she once got covered in, not to burst out with laughter. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been there,” he added with a shudder.  “And now you’re in France. How lovely!” 

“Oui!” she said in a long drawn out word.  And then the dance ended and another hand took hers.  It was just not her night as she gazed at King Louis The Fifteenth as the Doctor danced off with Reinette Poisson.  Well why not. So Rose Tyler, former estate girl, mistress of dimension hopping, and daughter of one of the wealthiest men in another universe, drunk danced with the King of France.

She spoke bad drunken French, flirted and brushed her fingers against his in the eighteenth century version of public foreplay.  The King complimented her smile and whisked her to a small alcove handing her more wine. Somehow her lips ended up on his. Not as pleasant as one might think.  Pretty nasty to be honest.

Quite the entry in her diary.  But timelines had to be preserved.  Still, she got snogged by the King. Take that Doctor!

Like a responsible time traveler, she made certain to whisk the King back to the party aimed at his future mistress.  She didn’t miss the Doctor, making the rounds, eyes landing on her a few times. Time to make her exit.

Even several glasses of strong wine into this party, Rose knew how to disappear.  And she did. Back to the suite, grabbed her leather coat and shirt and hit the dimension hopper as someone burst into the room.

Close call.  She stumbled into the cannon lab, and after a few confused slurred words declared “Viva le France,” and promptly passed out.

Not her finest hour.  Pete debriefed her with a lecture.  And then he laughed his arse off and asked about the wine.  The dress was transferred to storage and historical examination.  Pete and Rose made a vow to not discuss that adventure with her mum.  After a well-deserved shower to remove all traces of eighteenth-century France including some really strong disinfectant mouth wash, Rose prepared for the next attempt.  More stars disappeared.

Again, she had another close call.  This time it was during an alien attack.  An explosion knocked her on her arse. By the time she came to, she heard people in the woods talking about an attack at a school.  Their dress confirmed she landed early twentieth century by her guess. The TARDIS was near, her key warm. But there were too many people to risk being seen.

Darting behind trees, she made her way toward a building.  There wasn’t much time. Pete had put an automatic recall on the jumper much to her annoyance.  He didn’t want a repeat of France. Hard to argue with his concern about timelines. 

She collapsed against the back of a wood cottage.  Maybe she could somehow work out a way to connect the key to a GPS app?  Why didn’t she think about that before? A familiar voice sounded nearby but muffled.  Inside the cottage. Rose pressed her ear against the wall, listening to the Doctor talking to a local woman, asking her to come with him.  And getting coldly turned down.

Her breath caught and her heart slammed in her chest.  She’d found him. But when in his timeline? Clearly, it was after Canary Wharf.  Would he remember her? Sliding around the side of the cottage, she ran smack into a local.  Fantastic.

“Hello, I was just out for a walk.” Not her best line.

“No, you don’t belong here.  Like he didn’t. And I won’t stand for anyone else dying because of someone like you.” Harsh words slapped into Rose.  The woman dressed in long skirts, an apron and narrowed blue eyes stood in judgment.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to be here.  I was looking for someone. I think maybe you saw him. A tall man in a pinstripe suit.”

“Not a man,” she answered quickly.  “He didn’t mean to be here either and how many died because of him.  Leave now. Don’t think I won’t report this. I’ve seen too much death and I’m not afraid of you.”

Rose’s dimension hopper beeped.  She was whisked back to her lab. What the hell had the Doctor done? 

The icy stare of the woman bore into Rose, reminding her every trip had consequences.  The Doctor bounded in and left messes behind. Rose couldn’t do that. The irritation from France flared, about how he acted and how his actions spurred her to be just as bad.  Rose needed to be better.

A few more attempts left her in Rome…good memories.  One young vestal virgin needed help from a loathsome tradesman.  The bloke got a good dose of the Goddess Fortuna threatening him with a decade of loss and torment.  That one felt good.

Later, Pompeii, volcano day.  Nothing she could do but watch in horror as she choked on ash running with the crowd toward the ocean. The ground shook so hard, she crashed down onto a stone road.  The sonic boom of the explosion left her deaf for hours. The silence was welcome and left her time to think about these jumps and the Doctor’s cavalier actions. Like how things in France could have become a volcano day.

Next up wasn’t so bad. A 1920s house party where she just missed the Doctor and his latest companion, Donna Noble.   Over drinks with Agatha Christie, and with a signed copy of one of her books, Rose heard a tale of a wasp, amnesia and that Agatha had a thing for blondes or at least flirting with them.  Again, Pete glomped onto her report and the book. They had a toast to Agatha afterward.

The next few jumps were a whirlwind, two wrong universes, one at war, a gunshot wound she healed from too quick, setting the UNIT doctors all a titter.  She really hated needles and blood tests but they wouldn’t let her jump without them.

A run-in with Shakespeare that proved the Doctor had been there when she caught a few phrases of Harry Potter.  Seriously, where was the Time Traveler Rule Book she could throw at him? 

In 1980 London not far from where Elton Pope grew up, Rose found a homeless girl.  Maybe she wasn’t the big Time Lord altering timelines, but sometimes helping people meant more.  She bought the girl chips and walked her to a decent shelter, giving them a few quid to watch out for her.

Every trip posed a risk.  Rose appeared, sometimes helped a few people, sometimes watched helplessly.  One time, she ran into an alien drug dealer she sent packing with a few choice threats.  She’d gotten much better at threats since picking up a sonic disruptor. They tended to give people a nasty headache and the equivalent to epileptic hangover.  Not her first choice but aliens dealing drugs to kids got no second chances from her.

Her break through happened in Scotland.  She’d landed in a castle, a familiar castle.  Rose stomped her feet against the chill seeping through the walls thinking about an alien werewolf and Queen Victoria.  Funny she should land back there. Then again, maybe not. 

_ There is something of the wolf about you. _

The words shivered up her spine now.  So accurate. The wolf had matured, gained insight and a sense of herself.  Rose trusted her instincts more. She learned so much and quickly. To the shock of some at Torchwood and UNIT.  And the pride of Pete who accepted Rose for herself. Not the daughter who her mother saw or wanted her to be. Not the girlfriend Mickey wanted her to be either, but Rose, the woman who worked hard to keep everyone safe.  The sister who made sure her brother had a world to grow up in.

She walked down a stone staircase, boots echoing in the otherwise silent house.

_ The valiant child so far from home. _

Did part of her die at Canary Wharf?  Perhaps. Didn’t everyone lose a part of themselves throughout their lives.  Shedding layers as they learned, grew and evolved into their own morals and ethics.  Really, one never stopped changing. Rose certainly had changed. 

The main room, although preserved, had modern touches, like electricity thankfully.  One flicked switch illuminated office furniture. Torchwood. The word slammed into her.  An automatic tension gripped her shoulders.  _ Bastards _ .

She’d never trust this world’s Torchwood.  Corrupt to the core. Almost to the point of destroying their world.  At least they weren’t there at the moment. A desk calendar caught her attention.  February 2009. Still no sounds. Although she supposed she might have tripped a silent alarm.  Wouldn’t that be fun.

Rose texted Pete.

“Scotland 2009, Torchwood House if you can believe it.  No contact yet.”

“At least it’s not France,” he texted back.  A snort burst out. Their little joke. Anytime things went bad, he always joked she was in France again.  “Is he there?”

The key remained glowing, warmer now.

“Definitely near.   Going to try the new key app.  Give me more time.”

“Thirty minutes.  Can’t trust Torchwood in that bloody place.” 

Rose couldn’t blame him.  He’d seen first hand the disaster at Canary Wharf.  She placed her key on her phone and activated the app that she designed.  It was meant to sense when the key temperature or vibrations changed as she walked.  It also tapped into the GPS satellite in this world giving her more information.

Walking through the house playing hot or cold seek-and-find, Rose couldn’t help but think about the last time she was there.  They saved the world and doomed themselves. Why did he come back here? Did he think the alien wolf thing, Lupinehemawhatever came back? Or was it the royal family infected again?  Or Torchwood. She wouldn’t doubt he’d have issues with that lot.

A scuff and wisps sounded in the darkened halls. Followed by a familiar buzz.  Rose reigned in excitement even as it pounded in her blood. She moved forward, pocketing her mobile and putting the key back around her neck.  Her hand rested on the disrupter. Just in case.

A smack sounded like metal on skin.  “Don’t give me that.” A smile escaped as she followed his voice.

“I know you’re here,” he muttered.  “Torchwood can’t leave well enough alone.  Humans just got to poke at the nasty things. And of course, they’d do it here.” 

Rose’s chest shook as an evil thought played out.  She shouldn’t. But she did anyway. A soft howl echoed in the halls until she thought she would slide down to the floor in giggles.  Especially when the sound of trainers slapping on stone sped up. 

He rounded the corner in the darkened hall sonic aimed her.  Without missing a beat, she spoke.

“Took you long enough.  Any werewolf worth anything would have eaten you by now.”

“What?”  The sonic holding hand dropped to his side.  Rose walked to a wall and flipped on a light switch.

“Hi.”  She wiggled her fingers in a hello, bursting with such a relief and joy at finally finding him.

“Rose!  You’re here.  In Scotland.” His mouth opened and closed.  “Did you hear a wolf?”

She again snorted and rolled her eyes.  “Yeah she’s right here. Been following you through time for ages.  Got tired of it so thought I’d give you a call. Worked too.”

“That’s not funny.”

Rose noticed a flash of yellow in his other hand.

“Is that a banana?”

“I was a bit peckish!” he defended with a sniff.  “And you know, always bring a banana to a wolf hunt.”

“You mean a party?”  She sauntered toward him as he shoved the partially eaten banana into his pocket.  “Especially eighteenth century France.” She stood toe to toe, arms crossed.

“Um yeah?” he drew out uncertainly.  “But you’re here and it’s impossible and you howled.  Maybe we should just—”

Rose interrupted him in perfect Genovian and asking him if he enjoyed the dance?  His eyes bulged and again his mouth gaped. 

“You!  You were there!  I knew there was a time traveler but by the time I got away from the party you were gone! And Genovia?”

Rose dropped her arms and stepped closer staring into brown eyes just barely glimpsing the oncoming storm. 

“Yeah it exists in the other universe.  Queen and everything. They have delicious pears.” She popped the p in his face as he scowled.  “I couldn’t cross my own timeline. Had to leave to make sure things happened right. Unlike some people dropping hints about banana daiquiris and talking about things that hadn’t happened yet.  And snogging people he shouldn’t.” She jammed her index finger in his chest.

“Like the King?” The accusation hurled out like gauntlet thrown. And with it a touch of a jealous snarl. Revenge was a dish best served with a snog.

“You mean like this?”  She grabbed the lapels of his brown pin-striped suit and assaulted his mouth with no mercy.  No soft kisses for him. No jealousy, she refused to admit that, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t show him what he’d been missing.  A hard nip on his bottom lip until his gasped proved the point. 

Syrupy sweetness from the banana coated his tongue.  Rose nudged her leg between his as his arms flailed until settling on her hips.  Humming at the banana flavored kiss and how he finally curled his tongue around hers in a familiar caress, Rose slid her fingers into his hair.  Longer, more to grip, she tugged and raked his scalp, harder, marking him. Her lungs burned as she sucked his lip and flicked her tongue until his hands slid around to squeeze her bum.

She eased away from him, licking her lips, a warm satisfied growl vibrating deep and low at how she kiss-bruised his lips.  Now the storm in his eyes was legitimate.

“All right,” His voice pitched up.  “You’re here and…that’s good. But, how exactly?”

“The stars are going out.  Multi universal disaster. Void’s dead, walls thinning and, you know, same old same old.”  She shrugged as he stared and then nodded.

“And here?”

“Told you, been following you.  See I’ve got this dimension cannon.”  She pointed to the yellow tart-like device clipped to her trousers.  “We’ve been tracking the TARDIS but it’s a bit dodgy when you zip around time and space.  The multiversal reverberations and time lines shifting don’t help. We need you. I need you.”  Rose held her breath after the last admission. She didn’t mean to say quite that. God what if he didn’t want…

“Guess we better get to it.  Although…dimension cannon. Really?”  He pulled out his glasses and leaned down to examine it.  Her breath burst out in relief.

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”  Alien or human, blokes just didn’t focus on the big picture…ever.  “Doctor we’re talking end of the mulitverse. Did you think I’d sit home on my duff eating chips while the universes died?”

“Never!  Not my Rose Tyler.  Defender of the Earth well multiverse now.”

Her mobile buzzed with a text message.

“Sorry it’s Pete.”  She tapped out a message that she’d found the Doctor and they were on the problem.  She’d text more later.

“Good old Pete Tyler.”  The Doctor rocked back on his heals.  “Tylers to the rescue.”

Rose couldn’t stop the chuckle at Pete’s message. “Better than France?”

“Much.  No wine, kings, or mistresses.  Just a girl, her alien, and a time machine.”

A thumbs up came back on her screen as the Doctor peered over at her.

“He knows about France?”

“Yes, now come on, TARDIS now.  We’ve got work to do.” She paused on the way out the door at a liquor cabinet.  “Sonic?” she asked. He handed to her with a quizzical look.

She busted open the lock and pulled out a bottle of single malt whiskey.  She put her dimension hopper on it and sent it home.

“And that was?”

“Thank you.” Rose’s voice was heavy and thick with emotion. Pete deserved the best.  More than a boss, he’d been her dad. She cleared her throat. “Now we have to focus on fixing everything before my mum tears through after us.”

The look of wide-eyed terror as he rubbed the cheek Jackie once slapped on another version of him inspired giggles.

“Come on, let’s get to work.  Unless there’s something here you had sort?”  The question hung for only a blink.

“Just a dimension traveler who leaked enough Void stuff at a notorious castle to make me worry.  Which,” he drawled and tossed his sonic in the air catching it with one hand. “Is now brilliantly solved.  Unless you want to take the nostalgia tour?” He peered around the echoing stone hall. Rose guided him toward the kitchens and out to the courtyard.

“Don’t think the universe is that patient.  Stars are going out and all that.” She waved a hand upward toward the darkening sky.  “Maybe some of your companions can help? I want to meet Martha and Donna.” She stopped short.  “You’ve met them, right? Everything’s a bit out of order.”

“Oh yes! I just saved the Earth from Sontarans with Donna and Martha.  Sontarans, nasty group. A bit war obsessed.” He hopped a step, the light mania entering his eyes.  Exactly what she missed. With stories to tell all around, Rose looped her arm through his walking out of the castle and not missing a certain bit of graffiti on the Torchwood House sign.   _ Bad Wolf. _  There certainly was a bit of the wolf about her.


End file.
